Thief
by Magi Silverwolf
Summary: Natasha flirts with danger as she steals clothes from her fellow Avengers. (Dominance Games)


Author's Note: So this little headcanon blurb got shared by one of the many Facebook Pages that I follow and I had to write this. Right now, it's a oneshot, but Loredian thinks that I should expand it out to a full short as the rest of the Avengers start to establish the social pecking order since Natasha has so neatly claimed Alpha. Also, this is taking place shortly after the first Avengers movie. I have getting caught up in the MCU on my To-Do List for this break. I also have about twenty other things like finding my desk and possibly my bedroom floor.

-= LP =-

Dominance Games

-= LP =-

The unfortunate thing about being an Avenger was the requirement to be a hero. A hero was, by definition, a larger than life figure who could save the day. Whenever several of such kind of people tried to live together, there was bound to be conflict. Tony and Steve were often verbally sparring, just an inch away from breaking out into a fist fight. Bruce took to hiding in his lab. Clint kept finding hiding places at high points. Thor was jovial about the whole thing, but he was also in and out much more than the others. Then there was Natasha.

The first time they noticed that something was amiss was when she strode into the main dining area from the elevator. She had clearly just come in from a run and considering that it was approaching November, the fact that she was wearing sweats was a small thing in the whole thing. Then Steve spoke up.

"Is that my hoodie?"

"And I think those are Clint's pants," Tony added. Natasha shot them a small smile as she grabbed a pear from the bowl of fruit on the table, making eye contact with Steve as if challenging her use of the garment. The super-soldier cleared his throat nervously and with a sharp shake of his newspaper, went back to reading it. The spy now had the pleased look of a cat having just caught the canary. Taking her pear, she turned on her heel and strutted off down the hall to her rooms. Bruce watched her go as if she was an equation that needed solving.

It was Thor's tunic next, which really begged the question on how she had gotten a hold of it. The god was rarely at the Tower and had very few cloths to spare. So when Bruce wandered into the kitchen in the middle of the night to find her in the middle of making hot cocoa in the tunic meant for a much broader person, he was baffled. He stood in the doorway, watching her work. The tunic was so big on her that it hung off one shoulder, revealing a lovely expanse of pale skin. As she stirred, she would give a half shrug of the shoulder to jerk the falling cloth upwards, never quite succeeding in getting it hooked on the curve of it. All the while, she hummed a mindless tune that soothed away his nightmares. Ironically, tonight's nightmare had been the remembrance of chasing Natasha through the helicarrier, intent on breaking her. The sight of her alive and whole reassured him that it was all in the past.

"Do you want some?" she asked suddenly and without having ever turned to look at him. She did so now, just a sly glance over her shoulder. There was that slight grin again, as if she had a secret. "There's plenty for two."

"Um, okay," he said as he stood frozen in the doorway. "That would be great."

She responded by turning off the heat on the cocoa and moving the cabinet that held the mugs. Opening the cabinet, she had to stand on tiptoes to reach. This cause the tunic to rise up in back, revealing a pair of panties the exact green of the other guy's skin. As if summoned, Bruce felt him stir beneath him like a full-body tingle. It was not anger which summoned the other guy; Bruce could tell that much.

"Guh—Actually, I think I'll pass," he said. His voice has the guttural deepness of the Hulk's tones. His vision was distinctively green-tinged, meaning his eyes must have turned already. He tucked his head as he backed out of the kitchen and practically ran for the elevator. The large training room would probably be able to hold him if he lost control of the shift. He barely heard Natasha's farewell.

The third time had Bruce thinking that maybe his discovery of her in these various stages of undress was deliberate. He was collaborating with Tony on a project and the conversation had carried over onto a tablet as they sought out substance beyond the coffee available in Tony's lab. They entered the communal kitchen to see Natasha in a T-shirt and boxers. She was bent over taking something out of the oven, which gave them a rather good view of her well-shaped bottom.

"Huh," Tony grunted as she turned to put the casserole dish onto the trivet waiting on the island behind her. He had clearly noticed that the black tee was his Black Sabbath one. As the genius made his way to the coffee maker, he stopped beside the assassin to give the newly finished dish a dramatic sniff and a confused look. "Well, I don't know what that is, exactly, but it smells delish. By the way, is that my shirt?"

"It's Shepherd's Pie," Natasha replied. She gave him a grin that had a bit too much tooth to not be predatory. "And yes, it is." Tony gave a little hum before giving her a manly slap on the back.

"Well, you look fabulous in it," he said as he moved on to the coffeemaker. Tony was nothing if not pragmatic about it. His uncertainty only showed in his quiet question as he went through the motions of preparing the percolator, his mind half on the idea that he had been toying with of how to link the thing with Jarvis. "I will get it back, right? You know what I really want to know, though? Where did you get the boxers? Are they Clint's? Is the Capsicle a boxer man? He does seem the type, but not like this monstrosity. What is that color, anyway? Mauve? Fuchsia?"

"Can we stop discussing my boxers?" Bruce burst out unable to take any more of Tony rambling through his thought process. Tony dropped the pot into the sink in his rush to turn around instead of fill it. It landed with the distinctive sound of breaking glass. Tony continued his spin to get a good look at it.

"Well, _shit_ ," he declared before he turned back to the physicist. "Why the hell do you have _fuchsia_ boxers?"

"Tony, really? I think there are more important things going on," Bruce argued. He pulled the tablet to his chest and wrapped his arms around it as if it were a shield that could defend him against the other man's questions. "Shouldn't you be cleaning up that pot before someone cuts themselves?"

"It will keep," Tony dismissed, clearly done with the idea of coffee. "But how did you even find such a hideous piece of clothing? Which, by the way, you look smashing in, Natasha darling."

"Why, thank you, Tony," Natasha replied as she moved to pull out bowls from the cupboard. "You don't have to flatter me to get your shirt back though."

"Always good to know," Tony acknowledged as he moved to the silverware box which sat on the counter above the dishwasher. "What does one eat Shepherd's Pie with? Fork? Spoon?"

"Spoons," Natasha supplied as she sat the three bowls down on the island beside the cooling casserole. Turn back to the now-pot-less coffeemaker and microwave, she grabbed a wooden spoon from the caddy sequestered between them.

"Why are you doing this, Natasha?" Bruce asked. Seeing her in his boxers made him feel uncomfortable, like his skin had suddenly shrunk three sizes. He didn't feel the stir of the other guy, but the feeling was similar enough to knock him off balance emotionally. Natasha gave him that secret smile again before she began portioning up servings of her creation.

"I have a theory," Tony said after he got his bowl and had put the island between Natasha and himself. "I think she's doing it to establish dominance." The expression on Natasha's face said that she was not impressed with Tony's theory.

"If that is the case, then she's succeeding," Bruce commented drily as he gathered the courage to approach the island and the woman wearing his underwear. He made eye contact with Natasha and had to fight the urge to look away as the other guy took notice of just how green her eyes were. Warily, he set the tablet on the table to take the bowl which Natasha pushed towards him. He pulled it close and huddled against its warmth. Suddenly the memories of the gnawing hunger of being on the run constantly was too close for comfort. Even with his eyes dropped, he felt exposed to her, and his skin was now tingly as well as tight. He jerked when she laid her hand on his arm. His gaze flew up to meet hers.

"You don't have to run anymore," she assured him. It was meant to be reassuring. Until he felt himself relaxing, he hadn't been aware that it would be. She was right, of course. His acceptance as an Avenger did mean that he didn't have to run anymore. She gave him that smile, the one that spoke of secrets and mysteries, and for a moment he could contemplate a future in which he discovered a few of them. It made him give her a shy grin in return which made hers only grow. "Now, eat up. Those fat brains of yours need something other than coffee and week-old Chinese takeout to power them."

"I make sure that the Chinese takeout is never older than a day, Miss Romanova," Jarvis interrupted. Despite being an AI, he seemed almost as if he was offended by the insinuation that he was failing his creator in such a basic task. Tony nodded in agreement with the computer.

"Yes, ma'am," Tony replied for both of the scientists. He even gave a salute with his spoon. Natasha laughed as she shook her head in dismay at the smartass. The moment passed with little acknowledgment or fanfare, but Bruce would never forget the real prize of Natasha's thievery.


End file.
